


count dracula is qUAKING.

by blobfish_miffy



Series: paul is pretty (bratty) [1]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Cussing, Fluff and Crack, Jealousy, John too, Paul is a jealous brat honestly, Sharing a Room, Short One Shot, and George is pretty, georgous george, he's also lowkey horny for all of his mates, ringo is tired, same john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-13 16:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21164954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blobfish_miffy/pseuds/blobfish_miffy
Summary: Paul is being a jealous brat because he didn't get to hear what he wanted to hear, Ringo doesn't get it, John doesn't either, and George is a burrito.The Boys are Back at it again, bitches.





	count dracula is qUAKING.

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up this morning(the 24th) with this opened on google docs on my phone and no recollection of writing it. I messaged my friend I wrote it, apparently. God bless the writer spirit for possessing me that brief moment.  
Anyway, after some editing and rewriting and re-editing it ended up being a pretty decent piece! I sincerely hope you enjoy this short bratty Paul fic! xxx

“I just don’t get it,” Paul muttered bitterly into the darkness for the hundredth time that night. The groans resonating through their shared hotel room went tactfully ignored and the sound of rustling fabric signalled Paul sitting up straight in bed; the bedside lamp was turned on with a small click, flooding the sad excuse for a high-end hotel room with light. “I jus’ really don’t, lads.”

The hotel they were staying in was a little full and a little shabby, and the four of them were stuck together in one tiny suite. It wasn’t often such a situation occurred, as the suites they did share always were equipped with two separate bedrooms, but sadly their management (read: Eppy) hadn’t managed to convince the hotel to provide them with the necessary space.

Even though, y’know, they were the bloody  _ Beatles.  _

And it wasn’t like they  _ minded  _ sharing. Sometimes, after particularly stressful days, they’d crawl into one big bed, just the four of ‘em. But this time the lack of space meant that they were  _ forced  _ to sleep in one room rather than doing it voluntarily. And it kind of sucked, mainly because it meant a proper night’s sleep was out of the question.

“An’  _ I  _ don’t get that  _ you  _ don’t get it,” John hissed from his own bed - well, pull-out sofa. The room itself only came with two single beds and the staff had generously provided them with two extra, for, y’know, the other two, though they weren’t the most comfortable; and they weren’t exactly true beds, like John’s sofa. “She said wha’ she said, she was honest, and tastes fuckin’ differ. Now turn that bloody lamp off and go to  _ sleep,  _ Paulie.” 

“No,” came the stubborn answer. Paul always turned into a right brat when he didn’t get his way, and even though he was always insistent about keeping up his polite demeanour in front of strangers he apparently felt safe enough around his mates to let his true colours show. “I wanna  _ discuss  _ this, for fock’s sake.”

“What’s there to discuss??” Ringo now decided to sit up as well, looking a bit like a tired, disgruntled child. It was part of his ever-present charm, being able to look like that. Odd that the others had once found him intimidating. “It’s just a fuckin’ statement, mate.”

Paul wrinkled his pretty little nose and scowled. “It’s- it’s  _ mean  _ an’  _ unfair-” _

“Riddle me this, love,” John groaned, “why is yer definition of  _ ‘unfair’  _ always so different from mine? ‘cos I don’t see it as unfair at all, really.”

_“But it _**_is_** _unfair!!!!”_

“Ye’re just upset a pretty bird called  _ me _ the ‘andsome one,” came a grumble from Geo’s general direction. His bed, shoved near the window, was one of those tiny foldable ones on wheels and its mattress was probably harder than the floor. In an attempt to make himself comfortable the lad had rolled himself completely in his fluffy sheets, looking more burrito than George. He made a face at his irked, upset bandmate; John snickered from his sofa. “Big  _ fockin’  _ deal. ‘s  _ one  _ girl out of  _ thousands-” _

_ “She said most of her friends agree…!” _

“Granted,” John interrupted nasally, sounding a bit  _ too  _ pleased with himself, “Georgie is one  _ hot  _ piece of arse, son.”

The high-pitched, flabbergasted, offended shrieking coming from Paul suggested that he did not completely agree with that compliment. 

“... _ hey!”  _ the burrito protested Paul’s protest, “I ain’t ugly!”

Ringo dropped himself back onto his bed, curling into the sheets. “‘e’s a hot piece of arse, I agree with Johnny.”

_ “Thank ye,  _ Ritchie.”

“Butbutbutbutbut” Paulie started, tone just a smidge hysterical,  _ “I’m  _ the pretty one-”

“Ye’re the  _ cute one,  _ bunny,” John grunted. He wiggled a bit in a desperate attempt to find a more comfortable position; the rickety old sofa squeaked. “Doesn’t necessarily translate to  _ pretty,  _ that-”

_ “Jooohhhhnnnnnn!!!” _

“‘e’s right, y’know,” Ringo muttered, busy with rolling himself into his blanket. “Pretty an’ cute don’t always go hand in ‘and, Paul love.”

A brief moment of silence settled over the fab four. The burrito sighed in bliss at the calm, snuggling into his pillow; John gave up on trying to find a decent position, resigned to his future back pain, and pulled his blankets up to his chin; Ringo - still in the process of becoming burrito number two - coughed. 

Paul, yet again, broke the silence with his bratty, spoiled whining.  _ “Butbutbutbut-” _

“But  _ what,  _ Paul,” a rolling Ringo groaned.

“Geo is lanky and looks like ‘e hasn’t slept in five days,” Paul blurted, biting anxiously down on his thumb. Didn’t make it more pretty. “And  _ I  _ don’t-”

“It’s true y’know,” George-burrito commented from his bed. “That I haven’t slept in five days. Which is why I’d love for ye to shut yer bloody mouthhole now, Paulie darlin’, so I can sleep and look less like Vlad the  _ godforsaken  _ Impaler, goddammit.”

“Vampires  _ are  _ damned creatures,” John informed the three happily from his sofa, “very well spotted, Hazza!”

“I  _ know,  _ right? See, Paulie my dear, maybe if ye said that you’d be as hot as me. Intelligence is attractive, y’see-”

“Ye should write tha’ down, Geo,” grumbled Ringo, voice muffled from his pillow. He’d given up on his burrito-rolling and had now starr-fished himself on his bed.

The burrito beamed. “Maybe I will!”

“But  _ I’m  _ hot too,” Paulie wailed, dramatically throwing himself back onto his mattress and clutching his pillow close to his chest. “It’s  _ unfair…!” _

_ “Thought we’d already established that we don’t see eye to eye on the definition of  _ ** _‘unfair’, _ ** _ Paul.” _

“STILL.”

_ “Look,”  _ John sneered, now sitting up. His shonky, substandard sofa protested loudly at the shift in weight. “Geo’s just very handsome and ‘e’s got a lovely personality. ‘e’s awkward and gets all flustered wennie talks to birds-”

_ “Hey!” _

“-and they dig that shite ‘cos he’s hot. Think it’s  _ cute  _ ‘n all that. An’ he’s quiet ‘round interviewers, an’ that’s  _ mysterious  _ or somethin’, and that’s hot too. If  _ I  _ were a bird, and the opportunity arose, I’d do him so hard ‘is dick would fall off.”

“John,” George-burrito said earnestly, “that’s the biggest compliment you’ve ever given me, lad. I’d fuck ye too if I were a bird.”

John winked. “You know it luv.”

Another brief moment of silence. Ringo sighed, John fell back onto the sofa (it squeaked yet again), the burrito burrito’d himself some more. Then:

“But what ‘bout  _ me?”  _ pretty Paulie puled pathetically, “aren’t I- wouldn’t you-”

“Honestly I’d be up for on gigantic orgy,” John replied dryly, “but to soothe yer sorrows: you’re very handsome too, son. You’ve got those sad eyes, an’ Geo’s got those eyebags, and, before ye ask  _ again,  _ I’d do  _ you  _ as well.” He squinted at Paul, then, who finally looked a bit less like he was about to start sobbing. “If I were a bird, ‘course,” he then added hastily, tactfully ignoring Ringo’s amused snickering.

“Okay,” Paul muttered, now smiling a bit. His smug expression was reappearing and though he clearly wasn’t entirely pleased with being grouped together with George and Ringo as shaggable material, it still apparently stroked his ego. “Alright. Gear.”

“Gear,” George-burrito repeated from his mattress-made-of-stone. “Can ye turn off the light now, an’ sleep? Got five days worth of eyebags to cleanse off me face an’ I can’t do that if ye keep chatterin’.”

Something flashed in Paul’s eyes, then, something mischievous and unsettling as if he was ready to destroy someone, and a large, sultry grin crept across his face. “I will,” he purred, eyes heavy-lidded and voice smug,  _ “if  _ you admit I’m the prettiest lad ‘ere.”

And three voices harmonized their shrieks of annoyance.

**Author's Note:**

> "to pule"/"puled" is an actual bloody word, _google_. and google docs. and microsoft word. merriam-webster agrees with me. get fucked.


End file.
